


Behind the Mask

by dandelionwhiskey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Bottom Dean, Drunk Sex, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Halloween Costumes, I mean basically they get tipsy and fuck at a halloween party, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 04:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2534345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionwhiskey/pseuds/dandelionwhiskey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel isn't exactly sure how Anna convinced him to come to this party. He hasn't really been one for frat parties since he was a freshman. He adjusts his plastic devil horns and sips his drink until a bare arm slings heavy around his shoulder, prosthetic feathers jammed up against his side. "Guess we're sticking together tonight," the angel says with a beaming grin, and Castiel is falling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind the Mask

Castiel isn’t sure how Anna convinced him to come to this party. He’s crushed between Mario and Luigi, near the table stacked with half-eaten salty snacks abandoned for liquor. Black and orange streamers twist delicately from the ceiling, strung up with papier-mache spiders and plastic pumpkins. The lighting is low, just enough to catch the sparkly fringe across the edge of the table. Cas leans back against it and sighs.

He remembers the last frat party he went to; sometime several years ago during his freshman year. It had ended with him sitting heavily in the snow and demanding to sleep there, apparently adamantly enough that his roommate left him to freeze. Anna, a classmate of his, had found him trying to form a pillow out of snow and coaxed him someplace warm.

He often refers to it as the day Anna saved his life, which never fails to make her flush with embarrassment. Cas hasn’t been to a big party since.

This is one of the more reputable fraternities, he reminds himself as his eyes skirt over the chocolate bugles and gummi worms strewn across the table he’s leaning on. Across the room, there’s Princess Jasmine shotgunning beer with Indiana Jones and one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Castiel smirks.

Anna had disappeared into the crowd to retrieve drinks for them. Castiel busies himself with peering through the decorations to the plaques on the wall, reading about the frat. Delta Chi, one says, with a picture of several grinning men in ties adorning it. Their values are education, friendship, and progress, and Castiel thinks that sounds like every fraternity.

“Hey!” Anna says suddenly, bumping into him and shoving a red solo cup into his hand. “I got you your boring whiskey. I have vodka. There might be some rum in there, too,” she grins, red-cheeked. Castiel has just opened his mouth to ask but she’s leaning in, voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve been asked to dance. Will you-?”

But she’s already pushing her own drink into his other hand, hastening a thanks before backing back into the crowd. Castiel can’t help but glower for a moment. It was her idea to come to this party, and Castiel feels self-conscious just leaning up against the wall depressingly. He doesn’t want to be a downer. He’s just righting himself to move away when a heavy, bare arm lands on his shoulder.

“Looks like we’re sticking together tonight,” says an easy, smooth voice, and Castiel’s brain has stuttered to a complete stop. He slowly takes several facts in: there’s something crushed up against his side between him and - this guy - who is grinning - and Castiel is still holding two drinks.

He slowly realizes that the guy is grinning in the same way as one of the men in the Delta Chi picture behind him. So, he’s a member of the frat. A freshman, probably. There’s a fuzzy halo precariously perched over his head, twined with golden tinsel, and the thing shoved up between them is a feathery angel wing. 

“Oh,” Castiel says stupidly, and he really doesn’t expect the other guy’s grin to get bigger. 

“You really have to work through things, huh?” The stranger says, removing his arm from around Castiel’s shoulders. He’s still smiling even as he crosses his arms over his bare chest. Castiel’s eyes stay firmly above the (defined) shoulders. 

He clears his throat. “Sorry,” he starts, “I’m not used to getting accosted by men in diapers.”

The stranger has the decency to look mildly offended, glancing down at his cloth toga. He just ends up smirking, though, which Castiel can’t help but find charming. “Well, I guess we all can’t wear red hot pants.”

“They’re not-” Castiel begins, but he can’t really argue. The red shorts Anna had put him in really are short, cutting several inches above his knees. At least he’s wearing a shirt, though. “So, you’re in Delta Chi?”

The guy seems pleased with the change in subject. He sticks his hand out. “Dean,” he says, and Castiel takes it. 

“This is some party,” Castiel offers, looking around the heavily decorated room. “Are they all like this?”

Dean shrugs and takes a sip out of his red solo cup. “I guess. I missed the last one.” Cas opens his mouth to ask another question, but Dean cuts him off with an intrigued, raised eyebrow. “Who are you?”

“Castiel,” says Cas, “or Cas. Senior.”  
“Are you in a fraternity?”

Castiel nearly laughs. “No. This isn’t my usual Friday night.” He doesn’t really mean to sound so condescending, but Dean doesn’t notice. He’s looking at the two cups in Castiel’s hands. 

“Seem to be taking to it okay,” he says slyly. Cas scoffs.

“I was saddled with these,” he explains with a nod out to the writhing dancers in the middle of the room. “Designated drink holder.” 

Dean reaches down and grasps Castiel’s devil tail, curling it between his fingers and pressing his thumb against the dull tip. Cas swallows. “That’s nice of you. You don’t seem like much of a devil.”

“I’m not in character,” Cas says dryly with a vain attempt to tear his eyes away from Dean’s fiddling. His brain buzzes with desperation to find a way to keep this conversation going, and all it ends up with is, “who’s your favorite costume here?”

Dean drops the tail, talking animatedly about some characters Castiel has never heard of. He’s all gestures and waggling eyebrows and Castiel can barely focus on what Dean is actually saying. Something about his little brother, Superman, or maybe it was Batman - He’s so animated that Castiel is mildly concerned he’ll accidentally slap one of the drinks out of his hands. Castiel alleviates this fear by taking an extended gulp of his whiskey-coke. 

“What, am I that boring?” Dean asks with an exaggerated pout. “C’mon, I thought we were having a good talk.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and glances back toward the dancing crowd. “Just tired of holding two. I have no idea where Anna went. Do you want this?” He holds the red cup out to Dean, whose expression morphed into something more cautious.

“Uh, no thanks,” he says. His smile is a little forced, and Castiel’s brow furrows. He looks down at the drink and shrugs, taking a sip himself. He’s not really one for vodka, but he doesn’t feel that inclined to walk back to the table to get more whiskey. Dean seems to visibly relax, delicately plucking the cup out of Castiel’s hand. 

Castiel watches curiously as Dean takes a drink, ready to chalk it up to one bizarre interaction, when Dean clears his throat. “Gross, vodka.” He seems to notice Castiel’s bewildered expression and he shakes his head, the halo above him wobbling precariously. “Man, you really don’t go to parties often, do you?” 

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Castiel says while managing to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

“You don’t take drinks from strangers, dude,” Dean advises sagely and pokes Castiel’s chest with his index finger. Cas reels back a little from the force of it. “Anything could be in it. Even my brother knows that, and he’s sixteen.” He pauses, looking down into the cup. “Wait, you didn’t get this from someone else, did you?”

“Just Anna,” Cas says helpfully. He didn’t see who poured it, but he assumed she did it herself. Dean doesn’t look impressed, though, heaving a sigh. Castiel feels strangely guilty.

“Well, if we’re roofied, we might as well be roofied together. C’mon, Beelzebub.” Cas’ legs follow Dean of their own accord without consulting Castiel’s brain at all. They pass a game of beer pong where Raggedy Ann sinks last cup against Thor and uproarious cheers follow. Anna will find him eventually. She’s probably off with that Michael guy by now, anyway.

The whiskey he’d slammed a few minutes ago starts to make itself known with tingles in Castiel’s legs, followed shortly by a happy lightheadedness. He’s even smiling, eyes trained on the dip in Dean’s lower back as they push through the crowd. 

“Where are we going?” Castiel asks loudly over the music, and Dean shakes his head, sticking an arm back behind him to grab Cas’ wrist. Castiel doesn’t consider that much of an answer, but he continues to follow anyway.

They’re just reaching a staircase which looks like it leads up to the bedrooms, and Castiel halts very suddenly. Dean’s grip jerks as he’s yanked backward, and he turns around with an eyebrow raised.

“I’m not going up there,” Castiel says firmly, although with Dean’s green eyes trained on him, he can’t really remember why.

“You are the lamest devil ever,” Dean says, but it sounds affectionate. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to threaten your sensibilities.” Castiel supposes that’s enough and continues following Dean past the staircase to a huge wooden door with a “Do Not Enter” sign on it.

Dean pulls the door open, finger pressed over his own lips, and leads Cas inside.

The room is massive. There are enormous, packed bookcases and sturdy, oak tables piled with cardboard boxes. The fireplace in the back looks well-used, stacks of firewood lining the back wall. It’s dark, but Castiel can make out the comfortable chairs clearly worn and used for studying. He glances back at Dean, who’s smiling softly.

“Fraternities aren’t all alcohol and parties,” he says gently. “You don’t have to hate being here.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything, instead walking further into the room to examine the boxes on the table. They’re all filled with giant gallon ziplock bags, packed with toothpaste, toothbrushes, granola bars, tissues, deodorant, aspirin… he looks curiously over at Dean who comes up behind him, picking up one of the bags.

“They’re for the homeless,” he explains, voice right next to Castiel’s ear. “We always take a few when we go out and pass them out when we can.”

“This has to be expensive,” Castiel says reverently, looking at all the toiletries in the bag. Dean just shrugs.

“You get free toothbrushes and floss from the dentist,” he says, “and there are always two-for-one deals on that kind of stuff. We just throw the extras in a bag. And yeah, some of it is from our own pockets.” Dean adds that last part sheepishly, but Castiel is only impressed. 

“This is amazing,” he says, and turns toward Dean. It’s still dark in the room, the shadows flitting across Dean’s face as he grins. “I suppose you live up to your angel status.”

Dean straightens out his wings and strikes a holy pose, hands pressed together in prayer, which earns a smirk from Castiel. This seems to please him, practically preening under the attention. “It’s my brother, really. He’s such a good dude, and it comes naturally to him.” Dean smiles affectionately. “I wanna be him when I grow up.” 

Castiel laughs lightly. “It seems like you really miss him.”

“I do, man,” Dean says, gazing reverently at the bags. “He’s smart as it gets. Mensa smart. He’s gonna save the world someday.” He clears his throat, nodding back toward the door. “You ready to head back to the party?”

“In a minute,” Castiel offers. The cockiness drops from Dean’s face and is replaced with something much softer, a little vulnerable, and Castiel is falling.

“Yeah?” Dean says, allowing his hands to fall to his sides. “What do you want to do in the meantime?” 

Castiel’s vision is tracking just a little slowly, definitely a result of the whiskey. His fingertips are light and numb as they press against Dean’s bare chest, trailing down across his sternum and navel until they brush just at the fold of Dean’s costume. He doesn’t take his eyes away from Dean’s, which are crinkled at the edge to match his smile.

Dean inches forward and slides that smile against Castiel’s slack lips and doesn’t bother to hesitate before adding his tongue to the mix. Castiel is a little buzzed and a little nervous, adrenaline flooding his system, and that’s what he blames for crowding too close to Dean and pushing him back against the table.

“Oh - wait- “ Dean stutters against Castiel’s lips. Cas narrows his half-lidded eyes and watches as Dean struggles with the straps of his angel wings, which are crushed against the table behind him. He laughs, slipping his thumbs under the bands and helping Dean remove them. They fall to the floor, forgotten, and Dean has wrapped his arms back around Castiel’s neck in seconds.

Dean’s kisses taste like vodka and salt, his mouth warm as Castiel explores it. He scoops his hands underneath Dean’s ass and lifts him to sit on the table. His lungs burn for breath but he doesn’t want to pull away, not yet, and even _less_ once Dean wraps his legs around Castiel’s middle and yanks him closer.

Cas is framing Dean’s face with his hands, hips rocking forward, when he comes back to his senses. He yanks himself away, lips slick and wet and Dean flushed red and grinning, heel digging into the small of Castiel’s back. He raises a questioning eyebrow at Cas, but the smile never fades.

“What is it?” Dean asks rather hoarsely. Castiel insists that isn’t what caused his hips to jerk forward. “Look, you’re going to have to live up to your reputation at _some_ point tonight.” He looks pointedly up at Castiel’s devil horns and pecks Cas’ wet lips as punctuation.

Cas leans his forehead against Dean’s for a moment, searching his eyes, letting his hands move along Dean’s biceps. “Is that what you want?” He says as he drops a kiss to Dean’s stubbly cheek, down below his ear. He noses against Dean’s earlobe and speaks right into it. “You want me to make you fall?”

Dean swears and cups Castiel’s cheeks, bringing him back up for a deep kiss while they move together. Castiel’s hands never stop, palming up Dean’s legs to tease against the seam just at his inner thigh. Dean makes a muffled noise that Castiel swallows, his free hand carding through Dean’s hair.

“MmmCas, hold on,” Dean gasps, and Cas stops instantly but doesn’t move away. “You - you barely know me,” Dean mutters weakly. 

Castiel gives Dean a small smile and leans in to kiss his neck. “You’re smart,” he begins, “and funny.” He kisses the curve of Dean’s throat and revels in the other man’s shiver. “You’re generous. And sexy.” Cas swiped a thumb across Dean’s stomach. His eyes flicker around the library. “You’re determined, proud, and because I got all of that from the past hour, you’re also honest. You’re comfortable with yourself.”

Dean stares at him for a long time, chest heaving with his breaths, clearly torn between wanting to run from Castiel and wanting to push closer. It was unerringly hot. Castiel squeezes his forearms encouragingly, but Dean just laughs.

“Fine,” he agrees, kissing the side of Castiel’s mouth. “But I don’t know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?” Castiel asks against the skin of Dean’s collarbone. He can feel his body shake with Dean’s laughter.

“How old are you?” Dean begins.

“Twenty-one.”

“What’s your major?”

“Sociology and theology,” Castiel answers as he rolls his hips into Dean’s. Dean clutches at him and buries his face in his neck.

“Why?” His tongue follows his question, dragging along Castiel’s skin.

“Because I like people,” Castiel says, “and I want to know why they make the choices they make.”

Dean pulls him back up into a kiss that goes on awhile, just the barest hint of teeth making an appearance, mostly surrounding Dean’s habit of sucking Cas’ lip into his mouth. Castiel has a hand at Dean’s back and another knocking off his halo as he fists it in Dean’s hair. 

“You wanna know why I’m making _this_ choice?” Dean questions, eyes all clouded and unfocused. Castiel only nods as he desperately wishes he could shuck off his stupid costume. But Dean’s hands are tight in his shirt and he can let that one slide. 

Dean smiles and fits a hand between the two of them, cupping Castiel’s crotch and rubbing in slow, determined circles. “Because I saw you there, after your friend left, hating every second of being here. I could see you standing there all night, then going home to your twin bed, falling asleep sober and unhappy.” Dean nips at Castiel’s bottom lip. “And I just couldn’t let that happen.”

“My mattress is a full,” Castiel protests weakly. Dean just laughs and procures a flask from his angel toga. “It’s whiskey,” he says before Castiel can turn his nose up. “Your poison. Share with me.”

“You told me not to take a drink from a stranger,” Castiel insists.

“I thought we weren’t strangers anymore,” Dean tosses back, palming against Castiel’s growing erection. Cas rolls his hips into it and snatches the flask, pressing it against Dean’s lips. 

“You first, then,” he challenges. Dean seems to like this, opening his mouth and tipping his head back. Castiel pours a small amount of whiskey, just enough for Dean to swallow invitingly and lick his lips. 

Castiel follows suit, then, taking a quick pull off the flask and feeling the warmth of alcohol flood his system. His bones feel loose and soft, his heart pounding fast. He feels kind of like giggling.

They kiss, sharing the taste of whiskey between them before Dean is pushing at Castiel’s chest. Cas makes a whining noise, looking at Dean disapprovingly.

“If you continue to stop us I’m going to get the wrong idea,” Cas says sharply. Dean laughs and pinches Cas’ cheek. 

“Not stopping,” he advises, “just changing positions.”

Cas watches as Dean pushes off of the table and lowers to his knees, shuffling them around so Cas is pressed back against the table and Dean is rubbing his cheek against his now hard dick. Dean mouths at it, just friction on the dumb red shorts that Cas is wearing, and Cas is annoyed with how much of a slut he’s already being.

“Yeah,” he says as he cups the back of Dean’s head, “do it.”

Dean takes his cue and pulls Castiel’s shiny shorts down and pulls out his cock. He strokes it a few times, his hand cold against the flesh, but Castiel cuts him a break as soon as he fits his hot mouth over it. He grips the oak of the table, trying to keep his fingernails out of the wood as Dean goes down on him.

It proves difficult, though, because Dean is gripping his hips and pulling him in deeper, the suction consistent and warm, and Castiel doesn’t know how to handle it. He breathes out Dean’s name, strokes his cheeks, brushes through his hair, whatever he can do to show his appreciation.

He doesn’t even know if Dean notices, through all his murmurings of “yes, like that” and “please, Dean,” the man still appears to be focused entirely on the task in front of him. He’s tonguing against the tip, sucking softly, and diving back down to take in the entire length, and the pattern is driving Castiel insane.

“Stop,” he says suddenly, his voice beating out his mind. Why on earth would he ask to stop?

Dean looks up at him through his eyelashes. “You sure?” He says, kitten-licking at Castiel’s slit. 

“Oh, God, stop,” Cas insists, laughing a little bit. Dean smirks and stands again, only to be taken in a deep, wet kiss. 

“Why’d you want me to stop?” Dean asks quietly, and it’s all Cas can do to not shrug and push Dean back down again. He takes a shaky breath.

“Maybe we should go upstairs after all.” He manages to say it without stuttering, sounds confident enough, and if Dean’s eyes go a little darker then he is pretty sure he knows why. 

But Dean doesn’t move to go out the door, doesn’t try to hike Castiel’s short back up. Instead he’s pushing stuff away on the table and shoving Cas down against it and crawling over him until Cas is flat against the oak and Dean is straddling him. Castiel blinks up at Dean, hands finding the curve of his hips.

“So, I guess I’ll take that as a no,” Cas says flatly, and Dean laughs. 

“Impatient,” he explains, and starts fervently rutting against Castiel in a manner that suggests he’d be more than happy getting off that way. Castiel gulps for breath and yanks Dean down toward him, kissing him fast and deep as he thrusts up against Dean. 

Castiel can keep it simple. Dean is young and probably not comfortable with going that far with a stranger, whiskey be damned. Castiel respects that. Even as Dean is sucking a hickey into his throat, his damp breath ghosting under Castiel’s ear, he tries not to expect too much. As Dean pushes his hands under Cas’ red tanktop and pulls it up and off so their chests press bare together, Cas figures Dean will slow down sometime soon.

But Dean is digging around in a box next to Cas’ head, still undulating against him. He’s got a flush down his chest that is the sexiest thing Castiel has ever seen, and he can’t resist dragging his tongue against it. Dean takes a shaky breath and finally leans back on his heels as he holds up a small tube.

Castiel stares at him, his fuzzy brain trying to put two-and-two together. “Did you just steal lotion from the homeless so you can get off?” 

Dean smirks and plucks the devil horns off of Castiel’s head. He drags them down Castiel’s cheek, across his lips, and down his chest. “Maybe I should wear these.”

Cas watches mutely as Dean squirts the lotion out into his hands and warms it in his palms. He moves the hand between them and under Cas’ shorts so he can start stroking his cock, slicking him up, all while infuriatingly biting his lower lip and _watching_.

Cas wriggles his shorts down as far as he can and tries not to think too hard about how ridiculous he must look. Dean doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he’s putting his free hand behind himself and Castiel’s brain promptly short circuits. 

“Dean -” Castiel starts quietly, not wanting to break the moment, “Dean, do we need-”

“Got it,” Dean sighs out, rocking back on his own fingers. He releases Castiel’s cock and shoves a hand into his toga, and for a terrifying moment Castiel thinks Dean is just going to get himself off. But after a moment of rummaging around, Dean procures a condom and tosses it onto Castiel’s chest.

Cas swears and promptly gets into gear. He’s having trouble tearing his eyes away from the way Dean’s eyes flutter and how his fist is clenched against his side, but he manages to focus long enough to put the condom on and yank at Dean’s costume until it untangles it off of him. Dean’s dick is hard and swollen and Castiel can’t help but stroke it a few times, feel the weight of it in his hands, and then grasp desperately at Dean’s shoulders to pull him down for a kiss.

Dean makes a _noise_ into Castiel’s mouth and in a second, Cas has flipped them so he’s fit between Dean’s legs, the head of his cock pressing against Dean’s ass. The adrenaline flowing between them is palpable and drives them forward. Dean laughs breathlessly around Castiel’s tongue and spreads his legs, shrugging at Castiel’s raised eyebrow. So, maybe they’re both a little slutty.

Castiel must have said that aloud because Dean’s eyes close and he bites his lip, as if the thought of it alone was enough to make him come. Cas takes this cue and starts to press into Dean’s inviting body, slow and deliberate, drowning in Dean’s gaze. He’s sure they look a sight with all their writhing and whispering in an attempt to fit together.

It doesn’t take long for them to find a rhythm, mostly because Dean hooks an ankle around Castiel’s hip and pulls him forward hard. He leans up into Castiel’s ear and tells him exactly how he likes it and Cas can only obey, fucking him fast and unrelenting. Dean is choking back all kinds of sounds and Cas just wants to hear them.

He drapes himself over Dean’s body, laying flush with him as he rocks into his body. Dean’s fingers are digging into his back, leaving little imprints that Cas hopes stay for awhile. Everything is too hot, their skin slick with sweat and the taste of whiskey and salt on their tongues. Dean keeps grinning and Cas keeps kissing his jaw, unable to keep his hands still.

“Cas,” Dean bites out after a particularly punchy movement, fingers curling in Castiel’s hair. “Fuck, more.” 

Castiel’s answering shiver wracks his entire body. He brushes a thumb across Dean’s cheek and Dean returns the favor by sucking it into his mouth. When he curls his tongue around it and sucks, Castiel moans quietly and drops his head to Dean’s shoulder. He took a brief second to contemplate his situation and just lets his teeth just drag along Dean’s neck, not pressing down, not pushing, just reveling in it. 

Cas sits up just enough so that he’s no longer pressing Dean’s cock between them, his hands sliding up Dean’s arms to grasp his wrists. He pins them down tightly against the oak table and meets Dean’s wide eyes. Dean’s brow furrows as he thrusts up against air, narrowing his eyes at Castiel.

“Touch me,” he requests, maybe pouting just a bit, “please, Cas.”

But it’s Castiel’s turn to smirk as he keeps fucking into Dean, rhythm slowing to languid. It’s torture for him, too; Dean’s body so wet and tight around him, but Dean’s wide eyes and agape mouth are all he can ask for as repayment. 

“I take it all back,” Dean groans as his eyes shut tightly, “you _are_ the devil.”

Cas collapses against Dean, laughing, releasing Dean’s arms. They immediately wind around his neck and Cas is pulling Dean up into his lap, still shoved inside him, hips rolling almost of their own accord. But now Dean has a say, too, and he pushes down against Castiel’s cock as hard as he can.

He’s jerking himself off now, too, and Castiel can’t tear his eyes away. Dean is bathed in the low light coming from the moonlight outside, his chest flushed and heaving. He won’t stop touching Castiel’s face and Cas doesn’t think he’d ever get tired of it. He watches unabashedly and eyes the slick of precome beading out from Dean’s slit. If he weren’t holding Dean upright he’d want to lick it up. 

Dean beats him too it, though, thumbing across the head of his cock and collecting the precome there to ease his movements. Cas doesn’t even bother holding back a groan and before he realizes what’s happening he’s coming, holding Dean tight against him while he jerks up into him in short, uneven thrusts.

“Oh, fuck, yeah - that’s it, Cas,” Dean is mumbling into his ear and making his muscles seize with shudders, “so _fucking_ hot.”

This unearths some sort of second wind in Castiel and he’s pushing back again until Dean’s back hits the table. He keeps blindly fucking through his orgasm, head buried against Dean’s neck, everything around him on a buzzing dialtone. 

He doesn’t come back to himself until Dean’s fingers scrape down his chest a moment later. He blinks the sweat out of his eyes and his ears tune back into the room, where Dean is panting his name and coming all over himself in long stripes, cheeks red with exertion. 

Castiel belatedly realizes he’s grabbing Dean’s hips so hard they might be sore in the morning. He releases his death grip and gently draws Dean into a kiss which is returned with fervor. 

They separate a few minutes later, after they’d sufficiently tended to post-quickie cuddling. Castiel is glancing around for his shorts when Dean presses them into his hands. “Here you go,” he says, and damned if it isn’t a little shy. Castiel could fucking melt. He pulls his costume back on and helps Dean with his wings, which got just slightly scuffled in the process.

“Hey, so,” Dean begins awkwardly, and affection blossoms in Castiel’s chest. “I mean, I know you probably got your own stuff going on, but maybe you could come to our charity drive on Sunday. We could use the help.”

Castiel considers him for a moment, this cocky frat kid with a penchant for casual sex and giving to the needy. He wants to figure Dean out more than he wants to graduate. 

“I can do that,” he answers. Dean brightens and looks guiltily over his shoulder. 

“I guess I should replace the lotion,” he mumbles.

“We can go to the student center in the morning,” Castiel says patiently, thumbing across Dean’s bare nipple. Dean blinks at him, a grin breaking out over his face. 

“ _We’ll_ go in the _morning_ , huh?” He says, one eyebrow raised. Castiel simply nods. Dean chuckles and flicks at one of Castiel’s devil horns. “Fine. We have a deal.”

“Good,” Castiel says shortly. 

Dean leans up and kisses him, then, and it’s slow and chaste and Castiel is just about to wrap his arms around him when Dean pulls back. “Well, Satan,” he says, “let’s go back to the party, then. You beat me at beer pong, you’re off the hook for Sunday.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to make deals with the devil?” Castiel teases. “I could turn it around on you in a second.”

“Hey,” Dean protests, “If you’re sleeping next to me tonight then you’d better behave.” 

“You’re sure we’ll get sleep?” Cas asks, pulling the door open and ushering Dean out into the hallway. 

Dean huffs. “How dare you? I’m an angel of the lord.”

Castiel shrugs and pokes Dean with his devil’s tail. “So was Lucifer,” he says, and Dean’s laugh is drowned out by the music from the party overtaking them. Castiel sees Anna dancing happily with Michael and smiles to himself, allowing Dean drag him toward the beer pong table. 

“Guys, this is Cas,” Dean announces to his frat buddies surrounding the table. “And we have a deal - if he beats me at beer pong, he doesn’t have to help out on Sunday.”

Castiel wins. But he shows up, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr!](http://dandelionwhiskey.tumblr.com/)


End file.
